i am in a tunnel

a dark one,

a long one.


a figure

at the end of the tunnel

bathed in light

from the back

so as not to see their face.


i run

to the figure

the strong point,

the tall point.


my arms

that are thrown about them

find nothing

but gaping black

my hands are groping

the overwhelming blackness

the figure

is gone.


my heart

it breaks slowly,

it breaks sharply.

i stand back

my face a mask

of dismay and longing

for that figure

is what i'm missing

my missing piece.


so i run to the figure

every time,

any time.


and every time

the figure vanishes

like a feather on a windy day.

and i am left

with the same ache.


then, one day

some day

a future day


i realise i am lost

and need someone to find me.

but i need to have a part

in finding that someone.

i can not just wander through

the tunnel

that is a great cylinder

in life

without putting in an effort

to be found.


and so i try

try hard,

try without rest.


every day

i am left with the same ache

the same hole

the same longing

until one day

they come

without me knowing

with me looking

but not seeing


yet suddenly

i look,

i see.


and back into my tunnel

i run towards them

stretch out my arms

fall into theirs

hold them close

as they hold me back.


and i turn my head

against their chest.

and i can feel their heartbeat


beating steadily,

beating life.